


Learn to Touch

by punainenpuolukka



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Brief mentions of other characters - Freeform, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punainenpuolukka/pseuds/punainenpuolukka
Summary: After battling the Great Red Dragon, Will and Hannibal begin their new life together, but the weight of their shared past makes it difficult for them to move past the final threshold of their relationship between then and now. For them to move forward, they need to learn how to touch the other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first dip into the Hannibal fandom. I heard you liked fresh blood, and I'm happy to provide some. Also, it should be mentioned that English is not my first language and I have not written fiction for years.
> 
> Special thanks to nyyminen for her help and advice in editing.

 

The intimacy afterwards did not come easy.

 

Before Hannibal had been imprisoned, before his kitchen, Will and he had been close, so to speak. They shared something intimate, something so deeply emotional that there was a question of how conscious either of them were about what was truly between them. Their connection might not have been entirely sincere, but nonetheless it was strong and passionate, even to the point of obsession. Neither had planned it, neither had seen it fully coming despite wishing, wanting so.

  
Betrayal after another, a carved smile and a European holiday first drove the two apart only for them to meet again before a Spring seeking forgiveness, only to be snatched to be pigs for slaughter. But Will’s final rejection, after Hannibal had saved him from under Cordell’s knife, had torn the two apart, once again.

  
For three long, long years Hannibal and Will were separated by miles and miles, by a transparent prison wall, by Will’s attempts to live a life outside of Hannibal. But the separation did not last; Will was pulled straight back to Hannibal’s sphere of influence, certainly for what was meant to be the very last time, the final chance for closure.

  
The night Hannibal and Will fought against Francis brought back all that closeness, all the memories, all the yearning and want they had felt, but denied themselves and each other before. The two recognized and acknowledged the familiar intimacy, the echo of the past shared by the two, and sealed it with a cliffside embrace. As it happens, that was not the end of them nor their relationship, but merely a new beginning. So, after the fall, the physical touches that had been absent before, gradually followed suite.

  
Naturally, the two had touched each other before, but those times were few and far between and meant something entirely different. These times it was almost always Hannibal who initiated the contact, disguising manipulation as concern or comfort, violating Will when he was too vulnerable, too sick to properly realize Hannibal’s true intentions. But despite all that, after everything that had happened between the two, neither could no longer deny that they craved to touch each other again. All so slowly Hannibal and Will shed the hesitancy surrounding the touches both so desired and cherished.

 

First came the healing touches.

  
However, the intimacy related to healing was, in fact, nothing new: Hannibal had touched Will after the incident with Randall Tier, cleaning his hands and bandaging his knuckles. He had touched Will again after Chiyoh had shot him in Florence, although the gentleness of it was lost when he brought the cranial saw to Will’s head. And then Hannibal had saved Will, carried and clothed him, only for Will to claim he never wanted to see or even think of Hannibal anymore. But that was all in the past.

  
The slaying of the Great Red Dragon had left them physically weak; it cost the two a lot of blood and pain. The following cliffdive had cost a lot too: more bruising to the already weakened from crashing through the sea surface, accompanied with near hypothermia due to the freezing water and the cool spring air. Their old lives ended in the fall and the new ones began when the two emerged from the thrashing waves.

  
The wounds received from the battle against the Dragon and from their consecutive death and rebirth made it necessary for them to apply a healing touch in all of their interactions. Stitching, bandaging, chancing dressings: all the things they could not nor wanted to do to themselves. Touching the other then was unavoidable, but truth to be told, neither Will nor Hannibal actively sought to avoid it. Hannibal, of course, as a seasoned doctor was efficient but gentle, all of his endeavors aimed at soothing Will and easing his aches. Will was considerate in his own right: he skilfully tended to the wounds he could and followed Hannibal’s instructions precisely when his own knowledge was not enough. Days, weeks, and a hiding place after another, the two were finally well enough that the healing touches they shared were no longer needed and slowly ceased. For the time being.

 

Then came the greeting touches.

  
They were shy and fleeting, always cut too short to preserve the image that they did not mean as much as they actually did. The touches lingered between premeditated and spontaneous, uncertainness shadowing all attempts to sate their need for closeness. Shoulders were a safe place for contact when one of them was sitting, forearms if they were both up. But never too long, and often without looking in each other’s eyes. If their eyes met, the touches were prolonged until one them, generally Will, tore his eyes away, ending the touch abruptly too. On everywhere else they were mere brushes, fingers ghosting lightly over the other's back or arms. Gradually these touches became more and more frequent, bolder than before. Just as gradually Will and Hannibal realized that they were both really there, together, with no prospects of voluntary separation.

 

At first in their time together on the run, Hannibal and Will spent much of their time apart, not used to the presence of the other, yet craving but afraid to show it at the same time. So, even more naturally than the vital healing and the shy greeting touches before, came teaching through touch.

  
When Hannibal was finally well enough to start cooking meals that paled in comparison to the haute cuisine back in Baltimore but required some proficiency above the average home cooked meals, Will followed him to the kitchen more often than not. At first he merely listened the almost constant narration and watched, enjoying Hannibal’s skilled hands cutting and slicing, a sight so endearing in other contexts as well.

  
And so Hannibal asked for help. Not because he really needed it, but because he wanted to share his passions, preferably all his passions, with Will. Will knew how to cook, not anywhere near at the same level as Hannibal, but the basics and what he had already picked up before things went south. But there was still something special when Hannibal insisted on showing how to properly julienne after Will had chopped the needed vegetables into uneven slices. Hannibal trapped Will between himself and the kitchen counter, pressing his chest to Will’s back and mouth close to his ear, hands covering hands, adjusting the grip, and patiently sliced the vegetables together until Will seemed to get gist of the right technique. Slowly, one pair of clever hands retreated, leaving the other to the task at hand, arresting at the hips for a fraction of second, only for Hannibal to make a quick side-step to retrieve more ingredients from the cabinets.

  
Lessons guided by touch did not limit to the kitchen, nor was Hannibal the only teacher. Will was more than delighted when Hannibal expressed his interest in learning how to fish, although Will suspected his interests truly lied elsewhere, but did not comment further. Hannibal outright refused to try angling at the pier at first, requesting that Will should teach him how to fly fish instead. Will conceded, of course he did, but warned that it would be more difficult than what it initially seemed. The two had a dry run throwing the line on land, Will guiding Hannibal’s movements, fond smile on his face when he had to cover the other’s hands, adjust Hannibal’s grip and send the fly through the air.

  
Will had fished at the same spot before, at a small lake just on the skirts of their property, and oftentimes even caught something, so it should have been an excellent place for a novice like Hannibal to practise properly. Until it turned out to be the opposite of that: Hannibal, not used to waders and how to move safely on the slippery rocks, fell over almost immediately after trying to cast a fly the same way as Will did. Will was unable to hold his laughter at the sight of the soaking wet cannibal, and Hannibal despite his wounded dignity could not help but relish that sound. After laughing enough, Will offered his hand to Hannibal, helped him up and back to dry land. In all that time as the bemused Will practically dragged Hannibal ashore, he held his hand tightly, long after it was necessary to keep Hannibal from slipping again. But like many times before, when their eyes truly met, the physical connection was swiftly dropped, and an appropriate distance was resumed for the rest of the day. Curiously though, when Will went to fish the next time, Hannibal stayed on land and was content to merely observe Will’s endeavors.

 

And after the two had finally settled into their new lives, it came a time they wished to share one of their passion once again. Like with the Dragon, they worked in unison, one dangerous monster divided into two bodies, decapacitating their intended kill with ease. Like by the lake, Will held Hannibal’s hand when they watched the light die out of their victim’s eyes. Like in the kitchen, Hannibal leaned on Will, hands on hands, showing how cut and separate the meat for later use. Hannibal’s control beside Will’s chaos, with warm blood spurting on both of them, the two were content with their work, one kill at a time.

 

It did not take long until the touches they shared were not enough. Not to heal nor greet, not enough in the kitchen or by the lake nor for a kill. Will flat out starved for Hannibal’s touch, and Hannibal longed for nothing else than to hold Will like he had on the cliff. And like all the intimacy before Will’s pre-made family, before Abigail’s death, the touches that were to fill the hunger they had for each other were not planned, but still wished and wanted. Unlike before, this time the two did see them coming, although neither were certain when exactly they would come.

  
Who broke the last barrier between the more intimate touches, neither could know for certain. Maybe it was Will, finally allowing himself the other desires he had long harbored but denied the existence of. Or maybe it was Hannibal who finally claimed what Will was more than willing to give.  
In the end it did not matter. They could finally touch each other without the fear of rejection and allow themselves to enjoy it.

  
And touch they did.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated.


End file.
